The sun was dazzling as it set the skyline and ocean ablaze, a determined kamikaze general igniting everything it touched on its way down to the depths.  It was dramatic in a romantic sort of way-- the sun revived every day like some big phoenix.  A bird.  Maybe the sun was a bird?

Nah.  No one would believe something like that.

Usopp let out a sigh at that.  It sounded nice enough in his head, at least.  They’d spent all day at port, restocking, mostly.  And now, as it often came to be, it was an easygoing evening.  Until moments ago, he’d been part of the merrymaking.  His was a mind awed still at such simple things like a sunset; the sheer strength of his companions notwithstanding.  If the deck of this ship were a stage, he knew he certainly wasn’t a leading role.  

But then, if it were a stage, perhaps he was.  He could act, and that was about it.

As if sensing the dip in his mood, familiar hands gripped the rail beside him, and a familiar voice of concern addressed him.  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He turned his head almost mechanically to stare at Nami for a moment.  He blinked, then he nodded, folding his arms over each other on the rail.  “It sure is,” he answered, doing his best to match her bright expression.  Hers was flecked with worry; his scabby with sore self-doubt.

His companion leaned forward to rest her elbow on the rail, settling her chin in her palm.  Her smile seemed unfaltering against the rot in his countenance.  Even Nami had adapted.  She certainly was no Zoro, but she could keep up with them.  It was left to Usopp to flail behind.

The weight of that realization could crush him if it weren’t for the wind playing tag with her hair-- the strands belonged with the sea this night, with that absurd commander of the sky who seemed to have even found a grip on her.

Her voice once again interrupted his thoughts.  “If this weather keeps up, we’ll reach our next destination in no time.”

He didn’t even remember where that was.  All he remembered was...

He paused, letting long, trembling moments stretch out endlessly.  He wasn’t so hopeless, was he?  Just like her, he traded pieces of himself for the strength to push forward.  And what he gave up was this, this sniveling, this self-deprecation, this weakness.  This was supposed to be the price he paid for his progress, but it was now apparent that he still owed a debt.  And maybe that meant he wasn’t hopeless.  Maybe he, too, had room yet to grow.

He grinned at her, and were his eyes not so finely trained, he would have missed the relief that broke over her face like waves, directed by the moon rising steadily behind.  Had she always been so good at flipping his mood?

“That’s great!” he exclaimed in earnest.  She always knew what to say, even if it was something so simple.  After all, didn’t she feel left behind sometimes, too?  In this crew, maybe in all the world, they were birds of a feather.  They were the final line, but they weren’t weak.  They had their own strengths, versatile against the flames of brute force.  Indeed, she always knew what to say because she likely had to remind herself as often as he did.  Maybe even she was awed by the will of their companions, tossed by the tug of the moon like some erratic wave.

Was the moon a conductor?  Were they the song drifting from the hands of the ocean’s orchestra?  Was their imposed harmony ordained by the pale guiding light in the dark?